


Hello Stranger

by PazithiGallifreya



Series: Lady Cadash [6]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-02-01 02:05:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12694812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PazithiGallifreya/pseuds/PazithiGallifreya
Summary: I wrote this for a prompt from Bearly_Tolerable, who wanted to know about Cadash & Blackwall's very first meeting. Follows the game mostly, but with with more of Cadash's initial thoughts about this Warden Blackwall fellow.





	Hello Stranger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



"Feeling better?"

She nodded, blushing slightly. She'd parted ways with Sera and had spent an hour kicking a straw practice dummy next to some of the soldiers. They always gave The Inquisitor a wide berth and it annoyed her. Early on, she'd tried to talk to a few of the younger soldiers, ask them about their families, crack a few (admittedly not terribly funny) jokes, get them to see her as a _person_.

She wasn't good at that sort of thing. She couldn't make friends out of strangers like her uncle (that would take some getting used to) could. Once Cullen had appeared and tried to give her fighting tips, she'd decided it had been long enough. She appreciated Cullen's enthusiasm, but her fighting style was... not his. At all. She'd learned to fight alone, in the shadows. Then, she'd learned to fight with Thom and her friends.

It was nearly supper time, but their evening meal had not arrived yet. Cadash gave Thom a cracked smile and flopped down in the chair at her desk. She'd meant to apologize to Varric, but he had not been in his customary spot in the main hall. Thom, though. He'd caught her coming up the stairs before she'd had a chance to speak, and somehow she couldn't recall the speech she'd carefully composed in her own head out in the practice yard earlier. Well, sometimes simple works best.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier."

He hummed to himself, nodding slightly to acknowledge her apology. He pulled another chair from in front of the fireplace and drew it along beside her, sitting down in it backwards and leaning on the backrest to peer at her with a peculiar expression. "Well, anyone would be a bit rattled with so much sudden information of that sort, I think. Although if I'm going to be accused, I generally prefer it to be for the sins I've _actually_ committed. There are plenty to choose from, after all."

Cadash huffed a quiet laugh, but stopped herself. His penchant for self-flagellation wasn't actually terribly amusing, and she ought not encourage it, she thought, anymore than her own similar habit. "What a pair we make."

He reached over and ran a hand over her hair and cupping her face. "I don't know how, exactly, we 'make a pair' but I'm not complaining. Do you know what Varric was saying in the tavern before I frightened him off with talk about dwarves' beards? He wants a full interview, apparently, about us. I told him it was ridiculous, but he swore to me that it has the makings of a bestseller. Offered to cut me in on the returns."

"What, really? I knew he was writing about the Inquisition, but I can't imagine-"

Thom laughed again, not quietly but until he was nearly in tears. "I told him the same thing! He hasn't brought it up again, probably too afraid he'd let something slip, but now it's all out in the open, I imagine he'll be pestering us soon enough."

Cadash slipped off of the chair and wandered over to the fire, leaning against the mantel and trying to work out how she felt about the prospect of being a character in one of Varric's books. What it would be to have her life story read by somebody like Cassandra. It was a strange sensation.

"What do you think he'll want to know, exactly?"

"Everything I suppose. Do you remember how we met, in the Hinterlands?"

"Yea.. you stopped that arrow from going right through my idiot head. I had stopped paying attention to my surroundings for some reason. Fatal mistake, especially out there at that time. I never did thank you, did I?"

He came up behind her, wrapping himself around her, pulling her to sit with him on the carpet before the hearth. "You did. Not in words, perhaps, but you did."

 

* * *

 

 

A Grey Warden, Leliana had said. He was somewhere in the Hinterlands, and at this point, Cadash was certain she’d been everywhere. They’d spent weeks now, clearing out rogue Templars and mages who had been making life a living hell for the locals - stealing food and animals from farmers, turfing widows out of their homes, _making_ more widows, period.

The latest report from the scouts was of an odd man hanging about in a cabin, who had spent the last few days teaching the sons of local farmers how to swing a sword.

She could see the man now, across the pond, his voice carried to her and her companions on the wind. A stout, dark-haired man with a beard. She couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, yet. Three figures stood before him, each with a small buckler in hand. 

They approached slowly and Cadash held up a hand to stall Varric, Cassandra and Solas. She did not think it wise to startle this group.

“Remember how to carry your shields - you’re not hiding, you’re holding - otherwise it’s useless.”

Cadash broke away from her companions, signalling to them to stay back for the moment. She made a point of stepping loudly and cleared her throat before calling out the name Leliana had provided her. “Blackwall! Warden Blackwall?”

The man turned sharply, scanning across in momentary confusion, until he looked down. Clearly he’d not expected a dwarf. 

“How do you know my name? Who sent-”

Cadash took a breath to respond and in that moment, the Warden Blackwall lifted his shield and the dull ‘thunk’ sound of an arrow hitting it halted any discussion of who or how. The shouting of more looters heralded the arrival of the farmers' sons’ obvious rivals.

Cadash ducked back into the shadows, taking advantage of her smaller stature to slip into the shade of the cabin while the bandits’ attention was held by the Warden. 

The Warden turned to where Cadash’s companions were already moving themselves into position for the impending skirmish. “That’s it, help or get out. We’re dealing with these idiots first.”

Cadash moved around the back of the the cabin, the shouting and scuffling growing louder again as she came around behind the biggest of the bandits. Her gaze swept across the melee as she quickly measured up the current state of the battle and her eyes locked with the Warden’s for a brief moment. He nodded at her sharply as she lifted a dagger, then turned on the bandit, roaring and striking out with his shield, knocking him off balance. 

Cadash leapt forward and the blade sank home, piercing through a gap in the bandit’s leather garb and up beneath ribs. The rush of the man’s breath and the heat of his blood flooded over and past her and she withdrew, dashing around the bole of a tree before the dead man’s companions could catch sight of her. 

Her stomach knotted up as it always did when she killed, a feeling like molten lead running over her. She’d been told, once, by a Carta assassin, that she’d enjoy the feeling in time, but she never had. Part of her hoped and prayed she never did.

Between her companions and the Warden’s farm boys, most of the bandits were dead in minutes and the rest fled back into the woods. Only the parting shout of _“You’re dead, Rainier”_ returned through the trees, presumably meant for one of the farmers. Perhaps it was personal, then, and not just indiscriminate looting. Cadash wasn’t inclined to care at the moment - weeks of getting in the middle of someone else’s fight and only half-successful attempts at keeping the innocent from being trampled had left her rather unsympathetic to the petty wars of bruised egos.

Perhaps the Warden felt similarly - he shook his head and thrust his sword into the earth, leaving it swaying as he crouched over the dead bandit that Cadash had dispatched herself earlier. “Sorry bastards.”

He sighed and stood, turning to the jittery young men who were now looking to him for guidance.

“Good work, conscripts, even if this shouldn’t have happened. They could’ve… Well, thieves are made, not born. Take back what they stole. Go back to your families. You saved yourselves.”

The young men glanced at one another and departed without another word. No thank-you’s or gratitude to the man who had lead them. Cadash blinked at this Grey Warden, wondering what, precisely, he’d been doing out here. She glanced down at the dagger she’d forgotten was still in her hand, dripping the lifeblood of the thief onto the cold earth at her feet. She pulled a rag out of her pocket and wiped it off before sheathing it, making a mental note to clean it more thoroughly and oil it later.

The Warden watched her for a moment, giving her time, perhaps. She shook her head and walked toward him. He shifted a bit, planting his feet more widely beneath himself, as if he half expected her to turn her blade upon him, but unconcerned nonetheless.

“You’re no farmer, why do you know my name? Who are you?”

Cadash pushed back the impulse to simply give her name, knowing it would be meaningless to this man. She could feel her companions standing behind her, waiting for her to take the lead. She glanced back at them, but Solas was gazing off in the distance, no doubt listening, but content, apparently, to appear as though he had no interest in the proceedings. Varric watched but said nothing. Cassandra lifted an eyebrow and tilted her head, disinclined to take the lead, apparently, and impatient for her to get on with it.

She cleared her throat noisily and turned back to the Warden. “I know your name because I am an agent of the Inquisition.”

The Warden lifted an eyebrow, not unlike Cassandra, waiting for her to give some explanation, and rocked on his feet slightly, crossing his arms.

“I… was wondering if perhaps you could tell me whether the disappearance of the Wardens has anything to do with the recent murder of the Divine.”

The Warden shook his head, and paced back and forth, talking as much to himself as answering her. “Maker’s balls, the Wardens and the Divine? That can’t–”

He stopped his anxious movement and turned back to her, his air of confidence returning. “No, you’re asking, so you don’t really know. Well… first off, I didn’t know they’d disappeared. But… we do that, right? No more blight, job done. Wardens are the first thing forgotten.” He crossed his arms again, his expression hardening. “But one thing I’ll tell you - no Warden killed the Divine. Our purpose isn’t political.”

Cadash shrugged, unsure what to make of the man’s emphatic declaration. She wasn’t sure if what he said was true, but she was convinced, at least, that he believed it was true. “I wasn’t accusing you - or, er, the rest of you. I was just hoping you’d have some information. Er… are there any other Wardens around? I… We’ve only been able to find you.”

The Warden’s expression softened slightly as his gaze swept over her, lingering at her eyes for several heartbeats. “I’m sorry to disappoint, but I haven’t seen any other Wardens for months. I travel alone, recruiting. Not much interest because the Archdemon’s a decade dead, and no need to conscript because there’s no blight coming.” 

He paused, looking at her, but she waited for him to continue, and he did, after another moment. “Treaties give Wardens the right to take what we need, who we need.”

Cadash’s eyes slid from the Warden to the cooling bodies laying in the dust behind him. He followed her gaze, glancing backward for a moment. “These idiots forced this fight, so I ‘conscripted’ their victims. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time they won’t need me. Grey Wardens can inspire - make you better than you think you are.”

Cadash glanced at the path the farmers’ sons had taken, wonder if they had any clue what they’d been given. They probably thought they’d dodged an arrow, just barely escaping lives as Grey Wardens, feeling nothing but resentment at having been “conscripted” to begin with. She felt a pang of sympathy for this strange man living out in the woods by himself - she certainly knew what it was like to be resented for trying to do the right thing. Part of her wondered if it was worth all the trouble.

She’d heard it said that the Wardens recruited off the gallows, robbing the hangman’s noose, that they were little better than thugs. Whatever this Warden had been, he did not feel like a thug to her at the moment.

Cadash heard Cassandra fidgeting behind her, no doubt wanting to say something, certainly tiring of all this. They’d come here for answers, after all. “Do you have any idea where the other Wardens could have gone to?”

The Warden hesitated a moment, at a loss. “Maybe.. they returned to our stronghold at Weisshaupt? That’s in the Anderfels, a long way north. I… don’t really know. Can’t imagine why they’d all disappear at once, let alone where they’d disappear to.”

Cadash sighed. She almost liked this strange Warden, personally, but he was giving her nothing, and she knew Leliana would be disappointed. She could practically feel Cassandra’s annoyance from several feet away. Cadash shivered slightly, remembering the sort of “techniques” that the Seeker had used to interrogate her. She shifted slightly, placing herself more firmly between the Seeker and the Warden, despite the fact that she was far too short to shield the man from Cassandra’s view. She’d have to get something more out of him, though, or the Seeker might just try to do it herself.

“Why haven’t you disappeared, then?”

The Warden almost seemed like he might laugh, but just for a brief moment, his expression growing as dour as ever again. “Well maybe I was going to. Or maybe there was a new directive, but a runner got lost or something. My job was to recruit on my own, planned to stay that way for months, years.”

Cadash peered up at the Warden’s face for another moment and the corner of his mouth twitched just a tic, an apologetic shrug the only answer she would get today, apparently. She sighed and stepped back toward her waiting companions, pausing only to say, “Thank you for your time, Warden Blackwall.”

She shook her head and Varric gave her a pat on the shoulder as they walked back toward camp. She was halted by the Warden’s voice behind her.

“Inquisition… agent, did you say? Hold a moment.”

Cadash stopped and turned as Cassandra crossed her arms several yards away, tutting at the time being wasted.

“The Divine is dead and the sky is torn. Events like these, thinking we’re absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved.” He gave her another crooked half-smile, almost hopeful, somehow. “If you’re trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me.”

Cadash shifted a bit, unsure, but Cassandra at some point and wandered closer, and was now looking over the Warden she’d had little interest in a moment ago. “And what can one Warden do, anyhow?”

“Save the fucking world, if pressed.” That wry crooked smile broke through again, before he schooled his features back into something more serious. Cadash suddenly had the peculiar impression of looking at two very different people, but pushed it aside - she knew nothing about this man, after all.

“Look, maybe fighting demons from the sky isn’t something I’m practiced at, but show me someone who is. And like I said, there are treaties. Maybe this isn’t a blight, but it’s bloody well a disaster, some will honor them - being a Warden means something to a lot of people.”

Cassandra shifted forward beside her, lifting a hand in some sort of gesture, but Cadash cut off whatever retort she’d been preparing. After all, if she was expected to be some sort of “Herald” she might as well start acting like it.  

“Warden Blackwall, the Inquisition accepts your offer.”

“Good to hear, we both need to know what’s going on. And perhaps I’ve been keeping to myself too long. This Warden walks with the Inquisition”

He looked down at her, that smile breaking through again, but only for a moment. He went back to retrieve his sword and she watched him, wondering who he really was. She’d never met a Grey Warden before, but she wasn’t sure the rest would be much like this one. 

They began the hike back to camp, as the sun was low in the sky and would set within minutes. It had been a long, tiring day. The Warden took pace behind the four of them, slightly removed but always close. _What an odd man_ , she thought.

 

* * *

 

"I suppose it's alright if we tell Varric about it. Not much to it, really, though? Just a tip-off from one of Leliana's scouts. Some Warden out in the woods. Not exactly high drama."

They were stretched out on the rug like a pair of cats now. The room always had a chill, even in the summer. Cadash didn't mind so much with Thom there. There was a lot she didn't mind so much with Thom there, oddly enough. She'd always thought she'd be on her own, no matter what came her way. It just seemed to be her lot, and yet, somehow, there he was. The kitchens must be running behind. Cadash wondered if Sera had perhaps paid them a visit, although she didn't usually play pranks on servants. She could be quite determined in pursuit of snacks, though.

"Doesn't sound so thrilling, laid out like that. I'm sure Varric can dress it up, as he usually does. He'll probably add in a few dozen extra bandits." She shifted against him, relieving pressure against her shoulder where she was propped on the carpet. He sat up, pulling her shoulders over his lap and she she reached up to run her fingers against his beard. "You know, you never were really recruiting. You never had any intention of doing anything at all with those farmers' boys, did you? Other than teaching them how to fend off thieves..."

"No, I suppose I didn't. But somebody had to do something. They weren't the first I'd taught, either."

"Did any of them ever thank you for it?"

"No, but it needed doing, and I was there to do it. Had no good excuse not to."

"Hm, I suppose you're right." _And perhaps we have more in common than I ever thought. Odd how life turns out sometimes._

A knock at the door heralded the arrival of their supper, finally, and they rose together to greet the servant at the door.

 

 


End file.
